


Desecrated Bond, Condemned Soul

by Anoriell



Series: Dark Times [3]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Book & movie spoilers, Canon Divergence, Incest, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anoriell/pseuds/Anoriell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fili is not very pragmatic nor is he quite fanciful. He is trying to be realistic. Doom awaits them at the Front Gate; it is but a matter of days - hours, even. Yet despite his dispirited heart and the sickness tainting his soul, he would spare his brother a crueler fate than what war would offer him. And so he isolates himself on this presumed last night, hoping to keep the darkness at bay. The mania. Unfortunately, destiny has something else in mind for the Durin sons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter's prompt word = CRAZY
> 
> I am sorry. So, so very sorry.
> 
> Forgive me for I do not know what came over me. Other than there were prompts that needed to be completed and the table is called 'Dark Times' ... which led me to wonder about a darker Fili though I cannot EVER imagine him being this way so I had to find a reason for it and the thought struck me that perhaps he could suffer from another kind of madness than that of goldlust. Next thing you know, I found the appropriate song to match his crazy mood and everything else just fell into place after that. Check out the song "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails to give you an idea of Fili's state of mind while tainted by the sickness.

Dragon-sickness. A terrible calamity to befall the line of Durin. My great-grandfather had it, my grandfather had it and now my uncle suffers from it. Will it leave its evil mark upon me as well? Upon my brother?

Erebor is ours again. Smaug is dead and Thorin is rightful King under the Mountain in more than name alone.

Bilbo has been banished and our Company is under siege by both elves and men.

The worst of it all? Our leader has begun his slow descent into madness.

Thorin is tainted by the curse of lust for gold. You can see it in his eyes. You can hear it in his words. But mostly, you can feel it in his presence. He is but a shadow of his former self, a general sense of depravity having settled over him like a thick and heavy mantle. He is corrupted by greed and does not recognize friend from foe. Look at what he did to our little burglar. The very same hobbit who risked his life time and again to save us. To save our King.

None of us quite know how to deal with this turn of events. Our loyalty has ever been to Thorin Oakenshield. As it remains, even now - despite everything. But the Company is wary of him. Some are afraid. Especially Kili. I have seen the way he flinches beneath Uncle's every harsh utterance and cold stare. He does not understand. He reveres him too much.

I wonder if any of the others are feeling a touch of the madness as well, for dwarves are known to covet gold and treasure. And the dungeon-hall is filled with the dragon's hoard - Erebor's stolen riches.

I have yet to feel its tainted stroke upon my spirit. But there is another darkness that resides there now, since we have gathered beneath the Mountain. A foul and oppressing malady that seeks to warp my soul into something wicked and unforgivable. It is only a matter of time, I know. I can sense it. Something or someone ... a trigger. An incident that will set things in motion and I fear there will be no turning back, nothing to erase the irreparable damage of its inevitable outcome. And so I wait with the taste of dread upon my tongue and the smell of desolation burning through my lungs, holding onto the last threads of hope, isolating myself for what could be our last night in this reclaimed home of ours before war tries to take it all away again on the morrow. 

* * * * * 

I have kept myself from him these past few days. As much as possible. A difficult feat, considering our closeness and the love I bear him. He is my brother and we are inseparable. He is the flame that burns brightest above all and I would not see it wane. Not by my hand. Wouldst that he would never have embarked on this journey with us. With me. Doom awaits us, of that I am certain. Please, let him meet his end as a warrior should, on a battlefield - broken in body. Do not let him die from a broken spirit. Do not let me deliver the killing blow.

* * * * *

It is late and still sleep eludes me, refusing to allow me a moment's peace from my treacherous thoughts. The others should be sleeping by now, other than Uncle's appointed sentries. Kili is tucked safely away from me, under Ori's care. I had asked the gentle dwarf to look after him for the night and there must have been enough desperation in my bearing, or perhaps too much fear in my voice, for he did not ask any questions as he pledged himself to protect the youngest prince. The most precious treasure of all.

I was pacing the empty room - an abandoned chamber that had been deemed salvageable enough to be used as temporary sleeping quarters - with hands clenched into fists, body tense and eyes wild, no doubt. I imagine I looked the part of a fierce animal trapped in a cage. It is how I felt, at least, while the dementia settled in, unbidden and most unwelcome. Yet expected, regardless. I felt less and less like myself with each turn at the edge of the hearth. Its flagstone was cold and no blazing flames could be found in the cavernous fireplace. I was still dressed and still armed, eager for a fight. Itching for relief. As it happened, both came to me, unexpected, as the door suddenly opened and there stood Kili, along with Bofur. And no trace of Ori.

I have never seen such a feral look on Kili before, a turbulent storm brewing in his eyes. He takes a step towards me and Bofur grabs his arm, meaning to stop him. I growl. My brother tries to shake the older dwarf's hand away but to no avail. The miner has a firm grip and before I can think things through, a dagger is flying out of my hand, effectively pinning Bofur to the door as the blade pierces through layers of wool and leather and embeds itself into the thick wood. I am on him in an instant, another dagger unsheathed and pressing into the skin of his neck. His eyes are wide with surprise, his throat working nervously against the steel that threatens him.

"Don't touch him," I spit out. "Don't you lay a hand on him." Kili tries to intervene on Bofur's behalf but I refuse to listen. I can only seethe in anger as I stare down the miner. He tries to explain. Something about Kili knocking out Ori, intent on finding me. Bofur had tried to stop him, acting on my own directives to the youngest of the 'Ri brothers. He was trying to save Kili. But it is already too late, I realize, as I watch the thin rivulets of blood blemish the skin near his jugular. A red haze gathers around the edges of my vision and my nostrils flare at the whiff of iron in the air. Blood. It is blood that I want. Blood that I need.

But not his blood.

" _Fili_!"

I inhale sharply at the sound of Kili's voice, forcing my hand to relax its grip on the hilt. I slowly take a step back, and then another. Bofur's fingers are at his throat, shock apparent in every feature as he surely feels the wet stickiness where a weapon held him in peril but an instant ago. His eyes shift and focus somewhere behind me, to the left. Kili, no doubt. "Get out," I hiss over a pointed dagger, its tip inches from his chest. He hesitates a moment, but I am past caring about the emotions visibly warring within him. Finally he nods, pulling out the blade that holds him trapped with a painful hiss before letting it clatter to the ground; one last look towards my brother and he slips out the way he came. I notice a dark stain smeared across the wood.

"Fili ... ?"

I close my eyes and allow the corners of my mouth to pull into a semblance of a smile. Then I slowly turn and pounce on him, grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling him towards me, only to shove him against the door face first. The air is knocked out of him from the force of impact and I smile just a little more. My ears are ringing from the rushing blood as shudders of exhilaration course through my body. And that's when I know myself well and truly lost to the madness. To the lust.

Thorin can barter for the return of his damned Arkenstone and he can just as well keep it. I have captured my own prize.

A malicious grin now stretching my lips, I breathe into the soft curve of his ear.

"You should not have come."

 

_TBC ..._


	2. Violation (part 1 of 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili wants. Fili needs. And now he's got Kili trapped. But will he go through with it? Can he desecrate their fraternal bond in such a way? Thorin's lust for gold made him forsake a friendship. What will this other form of madness do to the eldest heir of Durin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still very sorry.
> 
> This chapter's prompt word = VIOLATION
> 
> I am posting this in small parts. Because I am struggling with the writing of it. But I am not one to back down from a challenge. I will see this through no matter how painful.

_You should not have come._

More than a mere statement, the words were meant as a warning. A threat. And now there is no turning back. I could not, even if I tried. Too many years. Too much want. So much need.

Kili goes very still. He does not move - does not breathe. I can practically hear the churning of his thoughts, a silent cacophony invading my mind and grating on my already frayed nerves. Then there is the soundless 'click' (yet somehow deafening to my own ears) as the perverted truth of my intent is made clear. Even so, he does nothing. Not a twitch, not a protest. Again, not so much as a breath. A moment passes, followed by another. Time seems to be suspended as the air thickens and amasses around us, bearing down on us. Suffocating and unforgiving. Finally, I notice his lashes slowly lower to brush against skin, the lengthy tips curving above the rise of his cheekbone. Reality has dawned on him and settles within him on a long exhale; now he knows. His throat struggles around a swallow. "You don't have to-"

"Silence!" I yank on the handful of hair already twisted around my fingers and this time, he definitely twitches. Though he does not make a sound. His eyes are still closed, his cheek pressed to the wooden surface. Quickly sheathing my dagger, I reach forward to divest him of any concealed weapons, shoving them further away with a booted foot. Dwarves are seldom completely unarmed.

"Not like this ..."

The pleading note in his voice is meant to weaken my resolve. Instead, it only strengthens it.

Never try reasoning with a madman.

I slam his head into the door and am rewarded with a faint whimper.

"I said not a word, brother."

His jaw tightens. His joints crack as hands curl into fists at his sides. Kili's whole body stiffens before me and I know the fight is boiling within him, threatening to spill out. I encourage it with a painful twist of his arm, trapping it behind his back. Now I've got him where I want him and thankfully, he does not disappoint.

While I have always been the stronger of the two, Kili is no less of a warrior. Power and size may be to my advantage but my archer brother is blessed with height and superior agility. All things considered, we are evenly matched. It is not a pretty fight. Nor is it a long one. His heart is not into it, despite the rage blazing in his eyes. I cannot help but wonder if he allows me to tackle him to the stone floor, in the end. Somehow, it appears all too easy. Yet his continuous struggling would negate that thought as he tries to free himself from beneath my weight. But I have him rightly pinned as he lies on his front, one arm secured on top of his head and the other once again trapped behind his back. I relish the feel of him as I straddle his rear, inching my knee upwards until I can effectively hold his arm in place and liberate my hand. I wipe the blood from my split lip with the back of it, noticing the red streak trailing from a gash on his temple. He might have caught me with a surprising left hook, but I had been quick to repay him with an oncoming table corner to the side of the head.

"That's it, sweet Kili," I urge him in a purposely mocking tone, well aware that his fierce temper is as quick to rise as his heartwarming smiles when effectively goaded - either devastating to my current state of arousal. Though I do not expect to see the latter this night. Or anytime after. It is too late for that now. "Keep fighting me."

"I don't want to hurt you," he tells me, between clenched teeth. And he probably could, if he put his mind to it. The fact that he doesn't really try serves to fan the flames of my ire. Standing, I haul him to his feet and shove him towards the bed.

"Oh, but I want to hurt _you_ ," I all but spit out, the sound of those maniacal words strange to even my own ears. The blade is back in my hand as I stalk him across the room. Kili staggers back, trepidation oozing out of him like the stench of garlic does through pores. The back of his knees connect with the side of the bed and his eyes widen before shifting from left to right.

"Go ahead." I stop dead in my tracks, raising both hands in the air, the dagger's tip pointing downwards; maybe I should allow him a little game of chase. I flash him a wicked smile. "You will only delay the inevitable."

He proves himself smarter and braver than I anticipated. He remains rooted to the spot, his shoulders set into a straight line of defiance. I am so proud of him.

_Mahal_ but I want him.

Four strides and nothing but a foot of empty space stands between us. As well as a dagger.

We are both breathing heavily, gazes locked in a silent plea. Though the malady has either altered or severed our fraternal bond of communication for we can neither understand each other. Or perhaps we choose to not listen.

Cold steel meets warm flesh as the flat of my blade traces his jawline, a soft scratching sound filling the air when the iron-based alloy rubs against Kili's dark stubble. "Ever have you been the prettiest."

Such an avowal surprises him. Of course it does. Kili has always believed himself to be the odd one out. And no one ever tried to make him feel otherwise, really. It is because of the beard. Or lack of it. But they do not understand. They know not the beauty of naked lines, the delicate curves of unobstructed lips. They cannot realize what they are missing when everything is hidden behind facial hair.

"Don't you know, brother?" Even as I speak, the dagger never strays from its path - over and around finely chiseled features. Up to the cut on his temple where red still trickles and now colors the point of my blade. "Can you not see how beautiful you are?"

"Fili ..." There is confusion in those exquisite eyes. I almost pity him.

Instead, I lick a stripe of blood off the blade. _His blood._

"And now I am going to MESS. YOU. UP."

 

_TBC ..._


	3. Violation (part 2 of 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still apologizing.
> 
> This chapter's prompt word = VIOLATION

Fear. It is an interesting thing. A strong emotion that can either trigger one's survival mechanism or lead to running away. The fight or flight response. However, it can also bring about temporary paralysis. A powerful concept, to say the least. Especially if that fear is manipulated or controlled, working against the individual.

It is said that one can smell fear. Particularly amongst animals. I have never bothered to dwell on the question. That is, until now. Because now I can smell it. Kili's fear. I know what fills my nostrils, teasing my senses. There is no doubt in my mind as to the source of the heady scent. I am half-starved for it. For him. "I want to see you." I do not even bother to try and understand the nature of his current fear. Perhaps it is best that I never know. But I do wonder which it will be - if he will fight or flee.

"You have seen me before." There is no mistaking the hurt in my brother's voice.

"I have," I acknowledge. Because it is true. I have seen him unclothed before. Often. And while I have looked upon his bare form with more than passive eyes, it was never with such an all-consuming sense of urgency. This violent need. "But not like this. Not knowing that ..." I shake my head. What am I saying? Can I even begin to explain this? How can one describe, or even justify, what I am about to do to him? Shaking my head again, in firm dismissal, I slip the dagger's point between fabric and leather lacing, easily cutting through the fastenings that hold the front of Kili's tunic closed. His head is bowed as he watches the blade pull apart one of the few layers that stand as a barrier between us. I push the steel edge between skin and cloth, meaning to slide the garment off his shoulder with a flick of the wrist. My hand is slightly trembling ... from anticipation, I tell myself.

Kili's long fingers wrap around my own in an unrelenting grip, halting the dagger's course. "There is no need," he whispers, almost sounding defeated.

His eyes are still downcast when I look up in surprise. What is he saying? What is the meaning of this? Will he come to me willingly, then? Strangely enough, the thought disappoints me and I am unable to mask the disdain in my tone as I ask, "You would submit to me?"

"No!" His grasp tightens and he meets my gaze, rebelliousness burning bright. It satisfies me to no end. Yet his next words are tinged with such discernment that I am left to wonder when it is that my brother became so wise. "Dawn may find us on a battlefield, Fili. Fighting for our home. For our very lives. Wars are fought between enemies. This ..." He squeezes my hand around the hilt, brandishing the dagger between us. "This is a weapon of war, brother. Meant to maim. It was made to kill." He sighs, releasing some of the pressure on his hold. "I understand what you want from me. But would you further my defilement by adding to it the use of cold steel? Is it bloodshed that you seek, then? My bloodshed?"

"Enough!" I let go of the weapon with a hiss, as if it burned the palm of my hand. His words hit too close to home. Yes, I want his bloodshed. Though not drawn from a blade. My aim is not to injure him. I wish to possess him. Taste him. Be a part of him. I want to feel the flow of blood pumping through his veins, giving him life. I need to be inside of him, sense him from within. Have him all around me - encompassing me. Consuming me.

If only this once.

"On the bed." I shove at him, pushing and yanking until he is on his knees with his back to me. The tunic is already hanging off one shoulder and so I make short work of it, removing his boots as well. I drop everything over the edge of the mattress, my own boots following closely behind.

Sitting back on my heels, I take a moment to slow my erratic heartbeat, calm my breathing. And I watch him. He is motionless, his arms and head hanging loosely, just as his drawstring pants hang low and snug below his waistline, the shape of a hipbone jutting out invitingly. I reach forward to touch it, my fingers tracing over the warm flesh. Nothing. No reaction. I grab him more firmly, shifting until my chest is flush against his back, wishing at once that I had removed my own clothing. Still nothing. I grit my teeth, letting my hand travel to his front, following the trail of curls to his navel and further up, over soft skin and taut lines of muscle. The contact gives me shivers, little bolts of energy traveling from my fingertips and jolting across my nervous system. He is all heat yet glacial at the same time. He remains stoic, a far cry from the dejection I had first interpreted in his stance - in his body language. Or lack thereof. All the more frustrating; I would rather have to deal with dejection than this cold resignation.

"You said you wouldn't submit to me," I accuse him out of irritation, provoking him.

Kili flinches at my words and I lean into him, soft breath against the shell of his ear. "If you will not yield, then where is your resistance, brother?" I hate the idea of him being passive. It does not become him. I prefer him fighting me every inch of the way. "Why aren't you trying to flee?"

It is but a mere glance over his shoulder but the look that Kili gives me is enough to leave me in a state of rage. "You will see this buggery through out of pity?" Because there is no mistaking what I saw in his eyes. "You will let me violate you out of sympathy?" By now, I am near to yelling. I cannot believe this. Such gall!

"Fili, you are not yourself ..." His voice is strained and I can imagine the thoughts coursing through his mind. The self-sacrifice he is working himself into believing is the right thing to do.

"You are right," I cut him off. "I am not myself." My hand is suddenly at the ties to his pants, pulling on the cord. "Let me show you just how much, dearest Kili."

He does fight me then, trying to tear my hands away as I work on divesting him of his remaining clothes. He twists against me when I pinch a nipple none too gently and he elbows me in the ribs when I make a grab for his flaccid member.

"That's better." I smile into his skin, licking at a shoulder blade before biting into the meat at the base of the neck. It tastes like old sweat and something else. Something distinctively Kili. I run a hand along the side of his flank, the other arm wrapped around his torso, holding him in place. My fingers follow the contour of his ass, dipping into the crack. "You will burn for me," I tell him hotly, burying my face into the thickness of his hair. "Or you will burn from my invasion of your body." Rolling my hips forward, I make sure that he can feel my erection pushing against him. "Either way, I will have you." _And you will hate me._

After that, his struggles seem more for show than anything. There is no will or true force behind them. He is smart and will have figured out that his defiance only increases my desire for him. My straining cock is proof enough. No matter. I have a new purpose, other than getting my fill. I intend to have him come undone before I am through with him. And he will hate me all the more for it.

I map the length and breadth of him with barely controlled desperation. My touches are hurried. Rough, even. There is no room for tenderness here. But I cannot forego the pleasure of learning him in such a way for Kili is more than just beautiful to look upon. He is not cut to perfection as Uncle's prized Arkenstone. But he is perfect nonetheless because of all his imperfections. His body is hard and battle-honed after years of training with Thorin and Dwalin yet there remains a certain awkwardness in the way he coordinates his long limbs at times. He is far from graceful but still manages to execute his archery with startling grace. He is loud and exuberant, though I find it endearing most of the time. His youth gives him a certain air of innocence but sometimes the depth of his gaze will leave you near gawking at his sense of clarity. His bouts of maturity. To me, he is many contradictions tightly woven into this wild manner of a dwarf. A lovely prince of Durin blood. And my brother.

Aye, he is beautiful and I love him. Twisted, is it not? That I would desecrate that love by violating him? But I have already accepted my fate. My conscience is free of guilt, despite the feelings that linger at the fore. The sickness runs deep, its firmly-planted roots having grown and coiled themselves around every thought, every emotion. I have no strength to resist the lure of him. Nor do I want to. I must have him.

Pushing him down until he is lying on his front, I nudge his legs apart and pull on the pants and braies still bunched around his knees to rid myself of them before kneeling between his spread thighs. Kili's hands are clenched tightly on either side of his head but he makes no move to escape his predicament.

I lay one hand over a perfectly rounded cheek, fingers stretched atop skin and soft hair. I run my thumb along his cleft and lick my lips, the desire to trace that line with my tongue overwhelming. How will he taste, I wonder? 

_Forbidden_ , comes the unbidden reply.

Leaning forward, I press my forehead to his lower back, nosing into the juncture over his tailbone. I inhale deeply and exhale slowly, warm breath ghosting across his flesh. Kili shudders beneath me.

I cover the other cheek with my second hand, fingers pulling in opposite directions as I open him up to greedy eyes. Swallowing thickly at the sight of puckered skin, I close my eyes and ride the wave of dizziness that assails me unexpectedly. My whole body is suddenly wired from the ripple of fear emanating from him, stronger than before, its intoxicating smell the perfect stimulant intake.

I take the plunge, diving into the crevice of his ass with my tongue, finally tasting him as I so desperately craved. It tastes neither good nor bad. It tastes of want and need and impending sex. It is obscene and I cannot get enough of it. I lave the area with generous licks, sucking at the darkened circle of skin. I hear a muffled whimper from somewhere above and it spurs me on, one finger fighting its way against the ring of muscles at his entrance. But the way is shut. Tightly, at that, whether by instinct or the desire to block my admittance. It does not stop me from forcing my way through, nudging with my finger until the muscles relent and I feel my digit slip into a snug heat. It is too much and not enough at the same time. I can imagine that same close-fitting sensation around my cock and the very idea finds me pushing a second finger in without forethought. Kili's whole body jerks from the intrusion and looking up, I can see that his back muscles are contracted into taut lines. His shoulders and arms are also straining from the assault, hands now fisted into the sheets, his knuckles practically white.

Yet there is no mercy in me as I twist my fingers within him, meaning to stretch him enough to accommodate my girth. I am relentless even when I know I am hurting him, possibly tearing him inside. Especially when I add a third digit.

Most likely too soon for him but not nearly soon enough for me, I pull my hand back, wet fingers fumbling with my belt and pants. The air is cool on my overheated skin once my erection is freed from the constraints of fabric and leather. Sliding an arm around his waist, I draw him back and up towards me. I spit into my palm and coat myself as best as I can. The head of my cock is at his entrance. Kili's back is still rigid with tension. This is it, then? Time to claim my prize?

With no preamble and ignoring all resistance, I drive into him. My brother cries out in pain. I see him stuff a fist into his mouth and know that he will not be making any more sounds no matter what comes next. Though I may not see it, I can practically hear the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes through his suffering, beads of sweat glistening at his temple.

I am seated deep, my cock filling him, unable to go further. The feeling is exquisite. A pulse envelops me, like a silent thrumming, its rhythm steady. Is that the flow of blood rushing through his veins? My own heartbeat seems to adapt to the tempo, naturally - almost as if we were back home, in the Blue Mountains, playing the fiddle together again. Perfect synchronicity.

Being a part of him like this ... it is better than anything I could ever have imagined, no matter the circumstances of our joining.

I start moving behind him, slow and easy at first. His body is still fighting my encroachment and I try to manage my thrusts so it can adapt, somewhat. It will be all the more pleasurable for me if I am able to slip in and out without hindrance. But it is proving difficult. _Mahal_ but his tight heat will be my undoing!

It becomes easier, after a time and finally I can let my passion take the lead, unchecked. As I set a brutal pace, the only sounds echoing through the room are that of my hips slamming against his bruising backside and my breath coming in short pants. A telling silence reigns thickly in the air, otherwise, and I pay it no mind. Kili feels too good and despite the wrongness of the act and how it came to pass, it is right. We are right together.

Or could have been, had I ...

"Curse the gold and all of Erebor," I cry out in anguish. Yet even as I know it wasn't worth it, that nothing was worth desecrating our bond this way, I am condemning my soul to an eternity of grief by finishing what I started. By digging my fingers even further into his flesh, by holding on tighter to his unwilling body and by plunging ever deeper into him - into this irrevocable sin.

When I think that I might just break apart his insides, the orgasm slams through me with such force, ripping a savage scream from my throat as I release thick streams of cum right then and there, having had no time to pull out. My knees buckle under the sudden weakness felt through every limb and I crumble over him in a graceless heap.

Moments pass as I gather my wits and catch my breath, my softening cock having already slipped out of him in a wet slide. Shifting my weight, I roll to the side, pants still gathered around my knees. I can see Kili from this angle, although his face is mostly hidden by strands of dark hair. I glimpse the edge of a nose, a patch of stubbled cheek and damp lashes. I turn him over.

"Kili, look at me." His eyes are closed. He has been crying.

" _Look at me!_ "

He does. But it would have been just as well if he hadn't. His eyes are hollow. There is an emptiness there ... not even hate resides.

His own cock is rigid from arousal, straining against his belly. Perhaps if I offer him release? The plan was to make him come undone after I've had my fill. Yes, that might erase the vacant stare and allow for something else to spark in those dark pools. He should be hating me. He is supposed to hate me. Where is the loathing? The anger?

Clumsily, I go about jerking him off. But it changes nothing, in the end. When he ejaculates all over my hand and his own chest, there is an instant where betrayal flashes brightly, though briefly, in his eyes. And then the emptiness returns.

I stumble back and off the bed, a cold chill descending upon me. My hand is trembling again. Not from anticipation, this time.

As I hold my pants and braies up to my waist and retreat from the scene, knowing the madness to still be of influence over me, it doesn't feel like much of a victory even if I did conquer him, marking him as mine.

As I leave and close the door to the room, I am haunted by images of blood and semen tainting the sheet and Kili's inner thighs. I am haunted by his expressionless face.

But worst of all, I am tormented by the realization that tomorrow, my precious brother just might meet his end having already died from a broken spirit.

Because I have, in fact, managed to deliver the killing blow.

 

_TBC ..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be more brutal. A no holds-barred type of rape where Fili was out of his mind with lust and pent-up need for his brother, laying it all out on Kili in one night (or one hour) of violence and sex. There was a reason for me to go to such extremes and write this. There was an intended goal behind the writing exercise. But I failed, obviously. And after more than two weeks of re-write, I just had to finally give in to the character's wishes and follow his take on this. Because despite the madness affecting him, Fili cannot separate his thoughts and emotions from his actions. I tried. Really, I so tried. I just hope I managed to make things real enough and clearly show the certainty of his goal and his need to achieve it (assuage his lust for Kili) by way of the sickness controlling him, yet keeping in touch with his love for Kili and allowing that care to shine through in moments of hesitation, not to mention the few glimpses through his eyes of the beauty that he sees in his brother.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer (because I am old school that way): Tolkien is the consummate artist and Middle Earth is his chef d’oeuvre. I hold his work in highest regard and as such would not presume to unlawfully use his literary creations for profit. I am only borrowing from his imagination … for the pleasure of expounding on his already established genius.


End file.
